Good Morning from TB!

I have a dog named Tiberius. The boyfriend and I usually call him TB. He does not have TB though.

This is what it's like waking up with him. At 8 AM. On a Saturday.

Mom. Get up.

Get upppppppppp.

GETUPGETUPGETUPGETUPGETUPGETUPGETUP

Usually I don't get up. I take evasive action. I try to ward off his extreme cuteness lasers by rolling over on my stomach and covering my head up with the comforter. Then this happens.

 sulk.

bigger sulk

 

SULLLLLLLLLLLLLKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

And I'm all, "No, I'm sleeping." And then he starts to whine. And I'm all, "I said I'm sleeping!" And he slithers right up to me and puts his face up against mine and looks up from under his bushy eyebrows that I need to cut and whines really loudly and I swear I can make out the words "YOU DID THIS TO MEEEEEEEEE!" And I'm all, "YOUR FLUFFINESS IS NOT WELCOME HERE."

And then he gets pissed and starts hitting me.

You think I'm joking. No really. Hitting me.

He stands up, looks me straight in the eye, and with the force of a mighty juggernaut slaps me right in my sleepy bitchwhore mouth with his paws that inexplicably seem to have grown sharp parts just for this purpose. REPEATEDLY. Like a straight up NINJA. And a frenzied machine-gun full-frontal paw domination fest occurs right there ON MY FACE, often particularly concentrated on my (usually open) eyes. And I'm all, "MERCYYYYYYYY!" and he's all, "DOMINATE." And when he finally tires of this bloodbath I emerge meekly from my bed, with bleeding eyes, a broken nose, a limp, and a crushed soul.

And we go for a walk.